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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25406356">a song</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrazzledDragon/pseuds/FrazzledDragon'>FrazzledDragon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji &amp; Kozume Kenma Friendship, Bokuto Becomes a Flutist, Bokuto Koutarou Being Bokuto Koutarou, Fluff, Flutist Akaashi, M/M, Musical Instruments, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Violinist Akaashi Keiji, alternatively titled: bokuto discovers music</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:21:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,278</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25406356</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrazzledDragon/pseuds/FrazzledDragon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bokuto stumbles upon a new side to Akaashi and falls in love all over again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>136</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a song</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm posting this on mobile so the tags aren't perfect yet and I have NO idea what the formatting is gonna be like - I promise I'll fix any errors later but I hope you enjoy it just the same!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bokuto isn’t a quiet person. He’s loud; brash and exuberant when happy - when he’s upset, he’s loud about it too. It’s loud, the way he enters this room in the school that he’s never been in, but apparently Akaashi’s inside, and he needs Akaashi (like usual).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not loud, but his teeth do click audibly as he slams his mouth shut, words dying in his throat. He might be holding his breath - he isn’t actually sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Akaashi, he’s sure of it from the way the boy, who’s back is to him, is holding himself, and he’s playing the flute and the most beautiful music Bokuto has ever heard is filling the room. Graceful notes and echoing, enchanting melodies that draw him in, all coming from the small metal pipe gripped elegantly in Akaashi’s precise hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto can’t make a sound, even if he wanted to. But he doesn’t want to, he never wants to interrupt, never wants Akaashi to stop. The music is a piece he’s never heard before and something he’ll likely never hear again, and it’s in pure awe that he pulls out his phone and hits record. It’s not from the beginning, but if he can save even one note of this dream he wandered into, that would be enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Akaashi stops, Bokuto stops recording, sadness creeping into his heart. It’s a struggle for him to force his mouth to words, but he does it, quieter than normal. “Akaashi?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi jumps, turning. His cheeks are dusted a rosy shade of pink. “Bokuto-san, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you play that again?” He interrupts, holding up his phone. “Can… Can I record it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He practically jumps a second time. “Well-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t interrupt!” Bokuto begs, “Please! I’ll be super duper quiet and you won’t even know I’m here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi blinks. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns back to the music, takes a deep breath, and Bokuto hits record exactly two seconds before Akaashi begins to play again. Bokuto had missed the opening the first time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tears up, the music terribly sad and heartfelt. It crescendos and decrescendos and rises and falls and every note feels more pained and difficult than the last. Bokuto has never really understood music - he tends to prefer mindless pop music where the only meaning can be found in the words of the chorus, but this piece he understands. This one makes sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’s because it’s Akaashi playing it, but maybe it’s because this one has emotions so strong and potent that even Bokuto can’t misinterpret them. Either way, he only steps closer to ensure that his phone is picking up as much of the music as it can manage, because it’s quickly become his favorite song.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi plays and plays, most of the time with his eyes closed, swaying gently in time with the melodies, dipping when the melody dips, rising up on the balls of his feet when it rises. His movements go from languid and silky to more bouncy as the music seems to pick up the pace. It goes from intense sadness to fear, and Bokuto wants to curl up in a ball with his knees to his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, the melody softens out again, but instead of lingering sadness, there is joy lurking in the notes, hope flying between the half-notes and quarter-notes. That joy grows and changes and flourishes, and suddenly the piece seems to make all the more sense; the melody that was so sad and full of pain in the beginning is joy and comfort in the end, and the world seems to stop spinning in the moment Akaashi stops, releasing his breath slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns, panting lightly, to Bokuto, who carefully stops the recording to clap wildly. “That’s PHENOMENAL, Akaashi!” He shouts, grinning from ear to ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets a smile in return, small and tentative. “Thank you. I’ve been practicing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you could play the flute!” Bokuto bounds over to look at, but not touch, the silver instrument in Akaashi’s hands. He senses that instruments are something no one but the owner should touch. “You’re amazing. That song is incredible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve played since I was little. I find it calming. When I stress or worry, I play flute, violin, or piano to help calm my mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto gapes. “You can play all of those instruments!? You’re amazing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really. Most of them are really not that hard to learn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Bokuto just keeps looking at Akaashi in pure wonder. “Do you practice every day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frowning slightly in confusion, Akaashi nods slowly. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At this time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I come and listen to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi stutters. “You… want to listen to me practice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto nods eagerly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose that’s okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For many weeks, that’s all it is. Bokuto comes to the room (which he learns is a band room, for band activities, where bands practice together, which he supposes makes sense) and sits silently, listening to Akaashi play. After that first day, he doesn’t even make comments, not wanting to give Akaashi a single reason to kick him out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some days, Akaashi plays piano or violin, but he usually sticks to the flute. Bokuto finds that the flute is his favorite. He can’t say why - Akaashi seems to be a natural on all of them, but there’s something about the way he plays the flute, about the songs he plays, that strikes Bokuto as perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It turns out, Akaashi has a whole repertoire of music that he practices, and there’s not a piece among them that Bokuto doesn’t like. He doesn’t record any more pieces, again: not looking to upset Akaashi, and that first one is still his favorite anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t tell Akaashi that that song is now his alarm every morning, and his ringtone when he gets a call. He suspects Akaashi would find that embarrassing, and Bokuto would hate to embarrass him. Worse yet, he might tell Bokuto that he doesn’t like that piece, or that Bokuto should delete the recording, or that he’s not allowed to listen to Akaashi practice anymore, which is arguably the worst possible outcome.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Listening to Akaashi playing is calming like nothing he’s ever known is. It’s centering. It slows all the voices and impulses in his mind to a crawl, forces him to focus only on what he’s hearing, what he’s feeling. There’s nothing that comes before or after the music, just the gently lapping of the melodies and harmonies against his consciousness. Bokuto wouldn’t trade it for the world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a normal day, a Thursday for anyone curious, when everything changes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto can’t put his finger on why, but Akaashi seems frustrated today. Maybe it’s the tiny furrow in his brow while he plays, or the way he exhales every time the flute moves away from his lips. The music he plays sounds off - again, not in any particularly discernable way - and though it still sounds heavenly to Bokuto, it’s not quite </span>
  <em>
    <span>Akaashi</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After what is apparently a particularly frustrating attempt, Akaashi holds the flute at his side, lips pursed. Then he turns to Bokuto.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto, who, like every other day since he discovered this oasis from reality, was doing nothing and making no noise as to not interrupt Akaashi in the slightest, stiffens. He doesn’t know what he did to disrupt things, but he gestures an apology with his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi’s face softens, a hint of smile touching his lips. “Would you like to learn to play, Bokuto-san?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto goes bright red, his mouth gaping. “Me? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Play</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods gently, the smile threatening his lips growing more obvious. “I am confident I could teach you flute or piano, if you would like to learn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto blinks. “Really? You’d teach me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Akaashi chuckles, a soft, warm sound. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto bounces to his feet, thrilled. “Then, I’d love to learn!” He bounds over to Akaashi, takes one look at the jumble of bars and notes and latin words, and wilts. “But I don’t have a flute. Or a piano.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Akaashi smiles. “If you want to learn piano, the school allows anyone to play that one.” He gestures to the grand piano in the corner, which he had watched Akaashi play on many times. “And if you want to learn flute…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a </span>
  <em>
    <span>startlingly</span>
  </em>
  <span> long time for Bokuto to realize the facts that Akaashi is holding his flute out toward him and that Akaashi wants to teach him flute are connected. He stares at the proffered instrument, then at Akaashi, then at the flute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he jumps about five feet back in the blink of an eye. “Akaashi!” He yelps, eyes wide. “I can’t play your flute!” Akaashi looks a bit embarrassed, his cheeks going red, and he opens his mouth to say something, before Bokuto interrupts him. “I’ll break it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi seems surprised by this, but Bokuto barrels on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My hands are too big! And I’m so clumsy! It’s too pretty and fancy - it’s better if I don’t! Maybe I can buy one… Maybe there’s a cheap one somewhere I can use, that way I don’t break yours…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi finally interrupts, his cheeks back to their normal color. He’s smiling, just a little. “This is a tube of metal. It’s not as delicate as you’d think, okay? You are not likely to break it. Besides, I would not offer if I was not aware of the possibility. This is not my good flute, regardless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his credit, he does not shout. “Your… good flute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As though he weren’t completely breaking Bokuto’s brain, Akaashi nods. “This is my practice flute. I keep it here at the school. It’s a perfectly good flute, and was actually my first flute, but I have another more expensive flute at home that I received as a gift. I use it when I perform or play in ensembles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do they sound the same?” Bokuto asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. It’s hard to explain in words, but my other flute has a much better sound.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa…” Bokuto is thoroughly mind-blown, but the sun catches on the keys of the silver flute in Akaashi’s hands, and his attention hops back to the original topic. “So…” He takes a couple steps back toward Akaashi. “You… You really don’t mind if I… If I play your flute? Your… practice flute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not even a little bit,” Akaashi nods again, holding it out to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto takes it as though it were made of glass. It’s heavier than he would have thought - the weight reminds him that Akaashi was right - it’s made of metal. It’s not too fragile. Frowning in concentration, he attempts to hold the flute like Akaashi had done so many times before, just to get a feel for it. He doesn’t dare put the mouthpiece anywhere near his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi steps in front of him, gentle in the way he touches Bokuto’s hands, maneuvering them into the right position. The press of his fingertips on Bokuto’s elbow cause him to raise the instrument like Akaashi had done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The interesting part about the flute,” Akaashi says quietly, “is that unlike many other woodwinds, or brass instruments, the flute does not involve putting your mouth on the mouthpiece. Your breathing, like with any woodwind or brass, is very important with the flute, because instead of directly blowing into the instrument, you are simply blowing across it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The flute’s mouthpiece,” he says, meeting Bokuto’s eyes unflinchingly as he guides Bokuto’s movements with soft, warm touches, “should rest comfortably between your bottom lip and your chin, so you can comfortable roll it up to play.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto’s heart jackrabbits as Akaashi’s gaze settles on his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this comfortable?” He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Bokuto squawks, too loud for the atmosphere. “It’s fine,” he manages at a much more reasonable volume.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi smiles again. “Good. It’s okay if it feels a bit unnatural - it will get better the more you learn.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They start with breathing - it takes Bokuto a while to get the hang of it, and it’s even harder for him to grasp the concept of tonguing, but he gets there and his excitement is nearly uncontainable. It only gets worse when Akaashi smiles, broad and happy, the first time Bokuto does it right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They work on the basic notes next. Fingerings, basic scales, and what the notes look like on paper. No key signatures at first, just getting Bokuto comfortable with reading basic sheet music. When Akaashi realizes he doesn’t know the difference between an eighth note and a whole note, they spend a whole day learning all the different notes, as well as what that means for different time signatures. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi even sings for him a couple times, trying to demonstrate how time signatures change music, but Bokuto is so distracted by the fact that Akaashi is </span>
  <em>
    <span>singing</span>
  </em>
  <span> for </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he doesn’t really get it at first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The more they work, the better Bokuto gets, and the more time Akaashi spends just talking. Bokuto doesn’t say much during their lessons, wanting to just take in as much as he can, but Akaashi fills the quiet, as Bokuto figures out the fingerings for notes he’s not as familiar with. He talks about how he learned to play, what some of his favorite pieces are, and how much he actually enjoys doing recitals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Bokuto was in denial about his crush on Akaashi before, he certainly isn’t now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he keeps quiet about that too, too focused on this preciously short time every day that he gets to spend with Akaashi’s attention focused solely on him. He wouldn’t trade this for the world after all, crush or no. Akaashi is an excellent teacher, and Bokuto has never been more desperate to learn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time it’s a Monday when Akaashi appears to be in a bad mood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto is still not sure what to do, and since they usually do their lessons today (Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays - decided after some bickering), Bokuto can’t even just back off and not ask. He knows Akaashi doesn’t like to talk through his problems like Bokuto does, so asking him to share would be insensitive. He also knows that he is not a mind-reader, as no one ever has accused him of being, and that he will likely not be able to figure out what’s wrong from staring alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Warm up, and then play through this piece as best you can,” Akaashi says, sounding distracted and irritated. He places sheet music to a song Bokuto’s never seen nor played on the stand, and Bokuto grimaces at the complexity of the notes. “Take it one note at a time,” Akaashi softens, and Bokuto relaxes a little. “Music is about all the notes coming together, but learning means you take it one step at a time. Just like spiking. Every step, every movement all comes together to land the ball on the other side of the court, but you have to know what comes next to connect them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto nods, then starts his scales. He likes the scales, actually. They’re orderly and predictable, and he likes to see how fast he can run through them when he tries. When he goes really fast and still manages to hit all the right notes, Akaashi smiles at him and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves</span>
  </em>
  <span> that. But he eventually runs out of scales, then turns to the piece before him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite his overactive imagination and newfound enthusiasm for music, he’s not great at imagining how a piece is going to sound before he plays it - logically, he knows notes higher up on the staff are going to be higher pitched, whereas lower notes will be lower, and that half notes are longer than eighth notes, and so on. Until he hears it, he struggles piecing it all together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows, takes a deep breath, then begins to play. It’s stumbling, at first, the way he trips and swoops through the measures, slowly getting a feel for the piece. It’s not good, he knows enough now to recognize that, but the runs and key changes aren’t so bad once he gets a feel for the melody, and before he knows it, he’s finished the piece.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto turns nervously to Akaashi, who looks stunned. He winces. “That bad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi shakes his head, eyes wide. “No. For sight-reading, that was incredible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cheeks going pink with excitement, Bokuto stands a little straighter. “Thanks, ‘Kaashi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As though suddenly struck by something, Akaashi scrambles toward his bag, pulling out the folder Bokuto has learned to recognize as Akaashi’s Music Folder. The one where he keeps all his ensemble and recital pieces. The one that Bokuto does not play music from, because it’s all much too difficult for him as a new flutist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls a specific piece out, and places it on top of the other piece on the stand. “Play this. As best you can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto takes another deep breath, eyeing the first few measures. He can’t place it, but the piece seems familiar. He’s sure he hasn’t played it before, and notes Akaashi’s neat script marking certain notes and key signatures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only takes the first note for Bokuto to realize exactly which piece he’s playing. It’s his favorite one - the one that’s his alarm and his ringtone and the first piece he ever heard Akaashi play. He knows it like the back of his hand, and though he’s never seen the sheet music for it before, it doesn’t take long for him to start translating the notes into familiar melodies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, it’s not perfect - Akaashi’s told him enough times that sight-reading never is for him to expect it to be - but he’s not ashamed by the time he’s playing the last note. He’s maybe a little irritated at Akaashi for giving him a piece that’s so obviously above his level, but he’s mostly anxious to see Akaashi’s reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re perfect,” Akaashi breathes, and Bokuto’s cheeks flare dark red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he squeaks, only getting more flustered as Akaashi grins, wide and unhindered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you perform a duet with me?” He asks in that persistent way of his, more excited than Bokuto has ever seen him. “A duet of this piece? You on the flute and me on piano?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto blinks, eyes wide with </span>
  <em>
    <span>utter</span>
  </em>
  <span> confusion and more than a little gay panic. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He tries again, a little louder, in case Akaashi didn’t hear him the first time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m playing this piece for a recital next month and I’ve learned both the flute and piano part in hopes of making it easier to find a partner to play the duet, and I had a partner and we practiced for two whole months and then he cancelled on me, saying he’s “going to be out of town” the weekend of the recital-” Bokuto has never seen Akaashi do air-quotes, and if he wasn’t gaping like a fish out of water (since when has Akaashi </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> said so many words in a row?), he might comment on this fact, “- and now I’ve been trying to find a partner to play with me but no one has been good enough or willing to learn the piece and practice with me, but I never thought to ask you because you’re still so new, but you have the raw talent and drive to learn and now you just played the piece </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> well for someone who was sight-reading so I think you’d be an excellent duet partner.” Akaashi’s out of breath by the time he stops talking, and Bokuto can’t help but be tired too. Who knew Akaashi could talk so fast?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rambles, he knows he does, but he’s pretty sure that was the longest run-on sentence he’s ever heard. “You want </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> to play this piece with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi nods firmly. “Please. If I have to change my recital piece, there will be a few and my director will be upset with me and I don’t have any other pieces as polished as this one. We can practice every day and I know you can do it. Please. I would really appreciate it, Bokuto-san.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto thinks about all the things Akaashi does for him, the sets and the pep-talks and the lessons and the days where Bokuto can’t focus to save his life, so Akaashi ditches their lessons and just plays whatever pieces he can find in his folder, even if he doesn’t have them as polished as some of his other pieces. He thinks about all these things, turning them over in his head, then says,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure. When’s the recital?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He texts Kuroo later, absolutely panicking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Kur^o.o^: </span>
  <em>
    <span>PLS KILL MEEEEE</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>From Kur^o.o^: </span>
  <em>
    <span>y? did akaashi have the audacity to wear clothes again?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>From Kur^o.o^: </span>
  <em>
    <span>or maybe he said ur name, which everyone calls u, out loud?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto is ashamed to admit he has flipped out about these things before, but when he tries to type out all the current reasons he’s physically shaking, words fail him, so he just calls Kuroo instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m playing in a recital!” He yells, before Kuroo can even properly greet him. “I’m going to die!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Playing… Recital? What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Akaashi taught me flute and now he wants me to play a duet in a recital with him and I’m going to suck!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo laughs. “No way. You’re shitting me. You playing the flute? No way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is not the part of the problem at hand that Bokuto anticipated Kuroo getting stuck on. He has to admit, he’s a bit disappointed. “It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe me!” Bokuto moans. “Akaashi believes that I can play this piece with him in front of people and I don’t think I’m ready and I really need reassurance!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though it’s not audible, he can feel Kuroo soften. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They first really connected when Bokuto was in the middle of an intense anxiety attack. They don’t happen often anymore - a combination of better friends and better medication saw to that - but Bokuto broke down in the middle of a practice match in the middle of training camp in the middle of summer during his first year of high school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was before Akaashi, before anyone really bothered to know him or take his problems seriously and it was Kuroo, on the opposite team and a first year too, who managed to talk him back down from his escalated state and helped him afterwards. It was Kuroo who yelled at all of Bokuto’s teammates about anxiety and how just because they don’t understand it doesn’t make it any less valid or crippling. It was Kuroo who made an effort to befriend him, to understand him and treat his struggles as real challenges, who put his number in Bokuto’s phone at the end of the week, and made him promise to text him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Kuroo who taught him that sometimes, if you need something from the people you care about, the best way to go about getting it, even if it was hard, was to ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it’s Kuroo, with his wit and jokes, who says, “Okay, so, when’s this rectial?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s… It’s next month.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long have you been learning flute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno… four months?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How often do you practice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three times a week, an hour each time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo hums, a sure sign he’s thinking through what he’s going to say. “And Akaashi says you’re ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I played through the piece and he thinks I can get it in a month.” Bokuto knows his voice wobbles, but he’s much too stressed to care. Maybe learning flute was a mistake - volleyball never makes him this stressed, maybe he should tell Akaashi he can’t and that he’s quitting flute-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you trust Akaashi?” Kuroo asks, cutting through the rising panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto frowns. “Yes?” He would have thought that was obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you trust his judgement?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” That was what a spiker had to do; trust his setter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you trust his skill as an instrumentalist?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Who wouldn’t after hearing Akaashi play?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what makes you think he’s wrong about you?” Kuroo’s voice is gentle, not at all sharp or teasing. “Granted, I understand why you’re worried. Four months isn’t very long at doing anything, and I’m sure there’s still a lot for you to learn. But Akaashi is probably a pretty good teacher, right? And you’re pretty smart, so I’m sure you’re learning quickly. But if Akaashi thinks you can handle it, and it’s just one song, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> you have a month to prepare for it, I don’t see how you can fail. You’re going to do your best, regardless, aren’t you? Even if it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>the</span>
  </em>
  <span> best?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto feels some of the panic in his chest fall away. “Yeah,” he murmurs softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you have nothing to be afraid of, Bokuto. Music isn’t like volleyball. There’s no competition at a recital. All you have to do is your best, and that will be good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what if I make a fool of Akaashi? What if I mess up really bad and ruin the song? What if everything goes wrong? What if I break his flute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re borrowing trouble, Bo. Knowing you, you won’t do any of those things. You’ll make him proud, because doing anything else isn’t an option. You’ll come through, just like you always do. You would never </span>
  <em>
    <span>try </span>
  </em>
  <span>to let Akaashi down, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Bokuto sniffles. “I’d do my best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then don’t get your panties in a twist, okay?” Bokuto can’t see him, but he knows he’s smiling. “You’re gonna be just fine. Actually, Kenma and I’ll come if you’ll tell me when and where.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto rattles off the date and address, the information having bounced around his skull like an ill-tempered bouncy ball since Akaashi said it passingly the first time. “You’ll really come see us play?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo snorts. “Of course. I’ve never heard you sound so worried about something that isn’t volleyball-related. And I still think you’re yanking my chain with the whole flute thing. I definitely pictured you as more of a drummer. Or at least trumpet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto grumbles. “Akaashi says I’m a natural.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sound similar to that of a hyena dying rattles through the phone speakers. “I’m sure he does,” Kuroo cackles. “Are you feeling better now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hates to admit Kuroo’s strange, indirect strategies worked well, but they did and he does feel better. Those fears and concerns that felt suffocatingly real like a noose unravelled under Kuroo’s gentle words and comforting confidence paired with his reasonable sympathy. “Yeah… Thanks, bro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem, dude. Guess what time it is now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto relaxes onto his bed, not caring that his Japanese homework is currently helping his pillow cushion him. A soft, easy smile slips onto his features. “Kenma Appreciation Hour?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo hoots about how Bokuto won the game show, before diving into all the things he’s noticed and appreciated or found frustrating about Kenma this week. Bokuto gets to relax, knowing that Kuroo isn’t really expecting or wanting him to listen to this rambling, much like how Kuroo listens to Bokuto ramble about games they were both present for and playing in. The important part isn’t to be heard, but to have said what’s tumbling about in their head and to know that there’s someone who cares about them willing to listen and give an encouraging hum or ha hear or there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto lets Kuroo talk, occasionally laughing or offering an opinion, but it’s all ritual at this point.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The interesting thing about music, Bokuto discovers, is that it makes him nervous. Nothing else in this world makes him nervous - not really. Well, that's not true - his mother when she's angry is scary as hell and Akaashi when he's sad or truly angry is mortally terrifying, but that's not the point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The point is, he doesn't really know how to be nervous </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> idle, because even when he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> get nervous, usually the source is a person. Not a recital. Not a performance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not something he can't avoid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows he's as prepared as he gets. He's practiced the piece fifty times today alone, and another twenty-five with Akaashi, then ran through the fingerings for the piece without Akaashi's flute another twenty-five times. Akaashi said that usually the performers have the pieces memorized, and he will, but considering it's his first performance, no one will think anything of him having the music in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto though does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to disappoint Akaashi, nor the people who have seen him perform before and are coming back to see him perform again, so he's tried to memorize. He's not sure he has it yet, but he can't think too long about that, because if he does, he might not be able to perform at all and Akaashi is counting on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone buzzes with texts. Three from Kuroo, one from Kenma, and one from Akaashi.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>From: kur^o.o^</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>bro</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BRO</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bro answer me I have something to tell ya</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>From: kenma</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>pls answer Kuroo he's being annoying</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>From: AKAASHI</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don't stress about tonight. You are going to do fine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Strangely, it's Akaashi's text that worries him the most. Fine isn't good enough. It's never good enough - not when he could do better. Its one thing if fine is the best you can do for that day or for that one thing, but Bokuto </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>be great, if he had put more time and effort into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone buzzes again - another text.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>From: AKAASHI</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You only leave me on read when you are in a slump. Are you okay, Bokuto-san? There will be a big crowd tonight. Lots of applause.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bokuto screams into his pillow, mentally running through the piece a twenty-sixth time in his head. There was one run near the end that even mentally, he always miffed. Something about the key signature, or the fact that it's a half beat offset from the run Akaashi plays seems to confuse him, even though he knows he can play all those notes. There's also a low note near the middle that sometimes he struggles on, and a rhythm near the main swell in the piece that trips him up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>From: AKAASHI</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bokuto-san, do you yell at the first years when they make errors?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The text seems odd in contrast to the ones that came before it, and it startles him enough to respond that no, he doesn't yell at the first years. He rarely gets angry enough to yell </span>
  <em>
    <span>at</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>From: AKAASHI</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Even if those errors are during a match?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Again, he responds no, because he doesn't. Everyone makes errors on the court sometimes - it's unavoidable. To get upset and cause a scene simply isn't worth it. Other people's actions are out of his control.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>From: AKAASHI</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are a first year flutist. Errors are to be expected. No one will scold you. No one will be disappointed in you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And if they are, I will deal with them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's his wording that catches Bokuto's attention, pulling it away from the spiraling anxieties floating in his head. Akaashi is very intentional with everything he does - Bokuto suspects this is what makes him so elegant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So when Akaashi says he will "deal with them", it is unlikely he meant he would explain, make excuses for, or support him. He likely meant exactly what he said, whatever </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>means.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He types out a thanks, because even without knowing exactly what was wrong, Akaashi did manage to choke off the panic coursing through his blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last note rings out through the auditorium and for a moment, for a long, gasping moment, there's complete silence from the audience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then they burst in raucous, delighted cheering and clapping and the dam of relief is broken inside Bokuto following Akaashi's lead, he bows, thanks them for coming, makes eye-contact with Kuroo, who is sat in the back of the auditorium with Kenma, and descends from the stage as the house lights come on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's over. He did it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glances at Akaashi. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They</span>
  </em>
  <span> did it. Together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi looks happier than Bokuto has </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> seen him, sharp in his slick black tux and glowing under the warm lights and frankly, gorgeous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The worried thing that had been tightening around his chest all day finally loosens at the hue of Akaashi's cheeks. He did it. He didn't upset Akaashi. That's all that matters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi turns to him suddenly, eyes bright. "I need to speak with you after we talk with our audience a bit. I have something I want to give you. It's… it's important."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto nods his understanding, before stumbling back at the impact. Kuroo, if the giant mass of thick black hair is any indication, is hugging him tight. And if he's not mistaken, Kuroo is… crying?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good job, both of you," Kenma says with a soft smile, looking at Kuroo. "Don't mind him. I don't think even </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> knows why he's crying."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akaashi chuckles. "Thank you, Kenma-san."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You did amazing, Bo!" Kuroo wails, and Bokuto feels his heart swell. "Why the hell were you so worried? What the shit, man? I was all prepared to pretend it was good even if it was bad and then you play like that? That was perfect!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto doesn't even have to look to feel Akaashi's glare. "Do you doubt my teaching, Kuroo? I would not have invited him onto this stage if I thought he would be anything less than incredible."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto's heart swells even more, enough that he can ignore the mild irritation that is Kuroo being prepared to lie to him about his performance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma looks a little more irritated than usual, but Bokuto can't imagine what at. "Ignore him. Kuroo doesn't even know what he's saying. You did well, Bokuto. I would not have guessed you were new to flute. Akaashi, your skill as a musician is undeniable - I am glad Kuroo dragged me here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Bokuto and Akaashi glow with the compliments, then Kenma drags Kuroo away and they continue greeting and visiting with the rest of the audience. The auditorium isn't that big and the crowd, for the most part, disperses within a half hour. Once the last of the guests leave, Akaashi and Bokuto start cleaning up and shutting everything down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bokuto-san."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto looks up from where he was sweeping, where Akaashi is standing, straight backed but oddly nervous. "What's up?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gestures for Bokuto to come closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I lied to you, Bokuto-san. I have two things to give you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can even blink, Akaashi is handing him his flute. "I want you to keep it. I want you to keep practicing and playing and maybe, when you play… you'll be reminded of this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He might be imagining it, but Bokuto is pretty sure he can hear an underlying </span>
  <em>
    <span>you'll be reminded of me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He can only gape. The flute case is familiar and cool in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finally manages to gather his thoughts enough to speak, Akaashi holds up a hand to silence him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't try to argue otherwise. It's a gift, and I've already made up my mind. Don't be rude."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto feels like he's got whiplash, which leaves him gaping once again. He's not usually one to be speechless, but he can't help it. Akaashi isn't usually… like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My second… gift, I suppose… is because I… I admire your bravery, Bokuto-san. Kenma overheard your conversation with Kuroo. He told me how nervous and stressed you were and I saw how hard you practiced to get this right for me. Not only did you go above and beyond to perform well despite your insecurities, but you… you performed even better than I ever could have hoped."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But I forgot an entire section of the piece, 'Kaashi-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You did. Then without skipping a beat, you improv'd an entire section, in the key signature, whilst keeping remnants of the melody. No one, not a single person in that entire audience, knew that that wasn't the written piece. You did that without practice, without prep work. That is… that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>phenomenal</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Bokuto-san. You improv'd an entire section </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> made sure nothing you played clashed with what I was playing. That's incredible. That took amazing bravery and… I envy that in you. You did something that scared you without hesitation and powered through to the end. You did this because I asked this of you, and I… I can't repay that, not really."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto is more nervous now than he was before the recital. Akaashi is </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> never like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
  <span> "Thank you," he says, a little tentative. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I want to repay that bravery with bravery of my own." Akaashi looks nervous too. "Is that okay?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto nods, because how else is one supposed to respond to that? But nothing in this world could have prepared him for Akaashi pressing forward and kissing him firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His knees wobble and he clutches the flute in his hands tighter as he leans into the kiss, pressing back against Akaashi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Akaashi's long, delicate fingers weave into his hair, Bokuto swears he begins to float off the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Akaashi pulls away, panting lightly, cheeks flushed and eyes laser focused on Bokuto's lips, Bokuto grins so wide he briefly worries his face will break in two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't forget about me," Akaashi whispers, breath warm against Bokuto's cheeks. "When you leave, don't forget."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto bends down to set the flute on the ground, taking Akaashi's face in his hands. His focus is solid and unbreakable. "I won't," he murmurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They kiss again. Bokuto knows this isn't a memory he will </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> forget.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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